Oh, but when you're sitting in class, wondering if those pancakes will stick to your stomach walls, or travel from your lips to your thighs, closing the gap that once let the sun shine through... But is now transformed from low muscle mass and bones into a thick slab of sticky flesh that rub against each other, chafing the skin every time you take a step or twist your body.
Food is what doubles the size of your arms, and lingers around your wrists, not allowing your forefinger and pinky to wrap around it like it once did before the carbs and excess energy turned into fat and plummeted throughout your body.
Food is the reason I can barely see my legs while standing in the shower because my torso is mounded with fat and rolls, looking like a tire that just wrapped itself around me.
Food is the reason I can't see my rib cage anymore, the reason I can't count them, the reason why i can no longer play them like an instrument, running my fingers up and down the bumps.
Food is the reason my hipbones don't jut out and hurt anyone who hugged me too hard, or the reason i can no longer lay on my side and wince in pain because it hurt too much.
Food is the reason i have no self control, why i can't say no anymore, why i'm so unhappy with myself, why i'm lost in a world where everything revolves around itself and leaves nothing for me to handle.
Food. Is the reason for my utter self hatred, and undesirable urges to starve, binge, purge, and think and think and think about the power i could have had, and the reason I can't spend a minute of my life without thinking about it and the calories i just shoved down my throat.
YOU ARE READING
Mind of The Disordered- A Memoir (Completed)
Non-FictionWhen you're stuck inside a layer of skin you never asked for, what does the soul do? It cries out in poems and pictures, and words that have so much meaning to anyone if they look hard enough. It winces in pain every time the pen hits the paper and...
